


Why Sherlock Should NEVER Play with Gene Splicing. EVER.

by type_40_consulting_detective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Catlock, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/type_40_consulting_detective/pseuds/type_40_consulting_detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock plays with science and gets himself into some furry trouble. John loves him just the way he is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Sherlock Should NEVER Play with Gene Splicing. EVER.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityofinsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityofinsanity/gifts).



John came home to a seemingly empty flat that night, but he knew better. He put away the groceries; milk, streaky bacon, veggies, and haddock. The bags of tins and boxes were set on the table, and John went to put up his coat when he heard the soft footfalls. Sherlock was trying to sneak up on him again, to pounce him, and John was playing along. The epic sulk of a detective denied his favorite game was not worth the reduction in scratches and bruises. At least Sherlock didn’t bite him. Well, any more.

There was a nearly silent inhale, and John tightened his muscles to brace for impact. Sherlock darted around the corner, pinned him to the wall for a moment, and then ran off. Seemed it was going to be one of _those_  days.

\-------------------

When Mycroft had _kidnapped_  John a day after Sherlock had left for a case, he should have suspected something. There had been an accident of sorts, Mycroft told him. John didn’t understand the science. Sherlock had been injured. John punched the table and began to demand to be taken to the hospital, when he noticed Sherlock peeking around the corner. John took the four long strides across the room and wrapped the man in his arms, forgetting to check for injuries first. Sherlock made an odd, mewling noise, and pulled away. He scurried back into the ensuite, and John stepped to pursue.

“John, a moment, please. The experiment went wrong, more than Sherlock or I could have anticipated. He’s changed some.”

“Is the damage permanent?”

“Unsure. It’s not so much _damage_. Sherlock plans to begin research when he feels more himself.”

“Mycroft, what the bloody hell are you trying so hard not to tell me?”

John took a deep breath, and steadied himself. He’d seen Baskerville. He felt prepared to hear anything.

“Sherlock has become part cat.”

Anything but  _that_ .

“Not fucking funny, Mycroft. Didn’t think you’d go in with him,” John jerked his head towards the door where he heard Sherlock creeping, ”on something like this.”

“I assure you, it is true. Sherlock? Come out here and speak to John. You’re stuck with... _them_.” The look on Mycroft’s face was one of mild disgust and wonder. “Best get used to it.”

A violent sound came from the en suite along with the sound of breaking glass. John stepped in carefully, avoiding the shattered glass vase, flowers, and water spilling from it. The shower curtain was opaque and John could see Sherlock’s form. He was in pyjamas rather than his suit or his belstaff. A long, twitching shape rose behind him and John gaped, not believing his own eyes.

“Sherlock?”

John pulled back the curtain and Sherlock’s hand went to his head, barely hiding the soft, black cat ears that poked out from rumpled curls. His tail pointed at the ground, twitching slightly at the tip. John kept staring for a full minute, unsure what to say. Each time he tried to open his mouth, to shout or question or comfort, Sherlock would flinch. Finally, he spoke just to fill the oppressive silence.

“Good thing I’m allergic to dogs, not cats.”

Sherlock tried to grin, to smile that genuine smile John only saw directed at him. The look was forced, tight in the eyes and corners of his lips. John reached slowly for Sherlock’s new set of ears, giving Sherlock time to dodge. When he didn’t move, John pet the backs of them softly, scratching at the skin where it changed from human scalp to cat ear. A quiet purr, rumbled in his chest, and he snapped away, realizing what he had done.

“Leave it to you, you mad bastard. Just the ears and tail then?”

Sherlock didn’t respond, giving John his very best _don’t be an idiot_  look. John chuckled and moved out of the way so Sherlock could exit the shower. The sleek black tail tried to tuck itself between Sherlock’s legs, but he grabbed it and held it in one hand.

\--------------------

John slipped off his shoes and went to the kitchen to start dinner. Most of his life remained the same in the four months since Sherlock’s changes. Sherlock was quite cat-like to start with, honestly. Aloof, but needy. Lithe and lean and graceful moments followed by bumbled falls. Clever as anything, careful, but also impulsive and reckless. If any person alive was more cat-like, John had never heard of it.

The smell of cooking fish had drawn Sherlock to the kitchen. His timing was once again impeccable, John had just pulled it from the oven. The rice and veggies were dished out first, then the filets with their lemon and garlic still clinging to the flesh. John could see the high arch of Sherlock’s tail, the black furred appendage swayed gracefully at the tip.

Sherlock tried to pretend he didn’t like dinner, to keep up appearances, but he wasn’t fooling John. The tail told him all he needed to know. His plate was cleaned for once, and John added this meal to his mental list of things to cook again.

Sherlock wandered over to the sitting room and perched in his chair, tail up behind his back. John had seen that look in his eyes before, and made sure to wash the breakable things first. He heard the chair squeak, and Sherlock still. In the reflection of the pan lid, he saw Sherlock sneak around the corner.

\--------------------

Two weeks of stopping Sherlock from ripping the tail right off his body or cutting his second set of ears off his head. Two weeks of hardly sleeping and not going in to work, citing personal illness. It wasn’t far off, he was sick with worry for his flatmate. Sherlock lay across the couch, tail slumped off the side, not even swaying or twitching. John was at his wits end for how to help, and it only seemed to be getting worst. It was like suicide watch shifts all over again, but 24 hours a day with a man who nearly never slept.

“Sherlock, please come eat.” A pillow muffled hiss was his reply. It was infact the only sound Sherlock seemed capable of making today. John slammed the pan down on the stove and walked purposefully into the living room. Ignoring his legs protesting, he went to his knees beside the couch and wait for Sherlock to react. Sherlock ignored him outwardly, but his tail bristled in anger.

“That’s enough, Sherlock Holmes.” John put on his best captain voice and continued. “You will shower, you will dress, and you will eat.” Sherlock hissed into the pillow and it steeled John’s resolve.

John had Sherlock flipped over and up into his arms before the detective could properly react. He was too weak from hunger and stiff from inactivity to put up any real fight. John carried him to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet seat, turning to lock the door. Sherlock only stared at him, in equal parts disbelief and awe. John started the tub running and gathered towels and soap, one eye on Sherlock in case he tried to run.

“Go on then, kit off, get in.” John’s glare was solid as Sherlock shrugged off his robe and pulled his t-shirt over his head. John could probably have counted his ribs from the other side of the street. Sherlock glared back when he felt John’s gaze, but still didn’t speak.

“Trousers too, unless you’d like me to pitch you in as is.” Sherlock turning his back to John, finished stripping as fast as humanly possible, and stepped into the hot water. A little shiver went down John’s spine at the sight of his bare and still inexplicably rounded arse, with the tangled, ratty tail hanging limply from his lower spine. John mentally slapped himself, and tried to shift his mind to caregiver. Flesh was just flesh and it all needed washed, whether Sherlock liked it or not.

John cleaned him carefully and thoroughly, washing his hair and tail with the ridiculously expensive shampoo Sherlock favored. Sherlock had begun to relax under John’s touch, muscles twitching as they unknotted. The whole time, John spoke soothingly to Sherlock.

“It’s going to be alright, Sherlock. We’ll figure this out, together.”

\--------------------

Sherlock obediently went into his bedroom after the forced bath, as pleased as any drenched cat would be. He’d slipped on fresh pajama trousers, tail hanging sadly from the u shaped opening Mrs  Hudson had sewn into them. His towel was flopped carelessly over his head, and he began to search for a clean t-shirt.

John pulled him back to sit on the bed and kneeled behind him. He began to dry Sherlock’s hair with the towel, careful not to muss or pinch his ears. It was at once so normal and incredibly intimate, touching him like this. Sherlock leaned into it, hints of a low, sleepy purr coming from him. John’s heart lurched, breaking a little. Sherlock pushed away physical contact at almost all times. To have accepted so much tonight, and with so little protest...

**"** Lay on your side, back to me.” Sherlock glared at him and John added, “You tail needs drying too.” Sherlock did as he was asked, and John started at the top where his tail emerged from the trousers.

**"** It’s going to be ok, in the end Sherlock.”

“You keep saying that.” Sherlock grumbled, pulling a pillow over his head.

“It will be, though.”John moved down the length of sherlock’s tail slowly, getting it as dry as possible before he had to comb it out. “Even if you can’t see it now.”

“Spare me your foolish optimism.”

“You’ve always figured it out, in the end. If nothing else, I’m sure it can be surgically…”

“Surgically removed?” Sherlock interrupted. It was muffled by the pillow, and John quieted to hear him. “Never mind what it did to me physically, What about mentally? Can they cut that part out?”

“What’s different?” Sherlock didn’t answer, and John tried to turn him over. When he still wouldn’t move, John crawled over his thighs and lay in front of him. He didn’t pull off the pillow, but John knew he was being heard. “Sherlock, please, what’s happening to you?”

“These, “Sherlock pulled off the pillow and affixed his best sneer, “ _instincts_. The tail with a mind of it’s own. The cravings for meat and blood, the urge to pounce and hunt. The need to…” Sherlock trailed off, his eyes downcast, but John thought he knew what was wrong.

“The need to be touched?” Sherlock jumped when John laid a heavy hand on his arm. “That’s very human, Sherlock.”

“That’s very base, all _transport,_  and has no root in the brain.”

“Sometimes you are a bloody idiot.” John ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm, giving comfort. At least he was trying, though his fingers were starting to shake a little. He hoped Sherlock was too upset to notice the way John’s pulse kicked up, or the little hitch in his breath. Sherlock suddenly rolled on to his stomach, back arching when John’s fingers resumed their pattern, but over the bumps of his spine this time.

“I can’t _hide_  anything anymore.” Sherlock whined, then stiffened.

“Why would you want to hide this?” John asked carefully,fingers frozen at the top of Sherlock’s neck, just under his dark chocolate curls of his nearly dry hair.

“ _Not. Gay_.” He said, his tone mimicking John.

“I haven’t said that for years.”

“And now you’re magically gay? Solves all our problems, just fucking fantastic.” Sherlock tried to get up, but John pressed a palm into his lower back and he paused.

“You’re not running off this time. You started this, and I will say my bit before you storm off.” John took a deep breath, not ready to have this conversation right now. It was years overdue, but he didn’t think he would ever <em>really</em> be ready.

”Sherlock, I came back here, back to this flat, didn’t I?” Sherlock didn’t respond, but he also didn't refute it or leave. Progress. John kept going. “I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to cut back my hours to chase you around again, and put up with body parts in the fridge. I didn’t have to, _I needed too_.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, John Watson. I’m not your _responsibility._ ”

“You are though. Because I chose you. And I will keep chasing you and doing my best to take care you you for the rest of my life. What do you deduce from that?”

Sherlock looked at John, really, deeply looked at him in a way he had not for years. John’s skin prickled under the intensity. He held his breath, uncertain when would come from this. All his cards were on the table for the first time, and he fought his own urge to run away. He closed his eyes to brace for the verbal blow.

“John.” Sherlock half whispered, reverent as a prayer. “I didn’t...I never...I...” Words failed Sherlock, his whole brain failed him, and he gave himself over to instinct. His eyes shut as he surged forward, pressing his parted lips to John’s.

John gasped. He’d been certain he was about to be attacked, belittled, or at bare minimum told to leave the room. It was always the unexpected with Sherlock, though certainly not unwelcome this time. John captured Sherlock’s bottom lip in his teeth, pulling slightly. Sherlock shuddered, moaning quietly.

The sound went to John’s head and he was suddenly dizzy with need. He sucked in shallow breaths between the near violent meeting of their mouths. It was clear Sherlock was at least somewhat practiced, in the way he used his tongue and teeth. John pulled him in closer and began to attack his tempting neck, fight the urges to bite a ring of bruises around it like a collar.

Sherlock rolled onto his back and John followed him over. He yelped then, and pushed John back. John sat up, brain clearing, while Sherlock cursed under his breath and grabbed at his backside.

“Shhh,” John soothed, and reached behind to stroke the tail that must have kinked with the sudden shift. Sherlock calmed, but his eyes were tight and confused. The silence continued for nearly a minute.

“You’re not disgusted by it?” he finally asked.

“Why would I be?” Sherlock’s tail twitched at the end, betraying his happiness. John sat up and gently stroked it from root to tip. “It’s part of you.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“We?”

“It’s always been we, you git.”

\--------------------

In the pan lid’s reflection, Sherlock crept around the corner and past the edge of the table. John set the lid in the water and tighten his muscles, ready to react. Sherlock arms grabbed at his shoulders, expecting to “ _tag_ ” him and run off. Instead, John turned and wrapped his arms around Sherlock wiggling body and pinned him. Sherlock hissed and tried to push away, but could get no leverage.

“I’ve got you now, Sherlock.” John chuckled as Sherlock mock struggled. John knew better, he could feel the erection held snug against his hip. “You’re never getting free.”

“Unhand me!” Sherlock arched his back over the grip of John’s arms. John had to step to balance them again, but didn’t loosen his grip.

“No, I don’t think you want me to.” John leaned in and lick Sherlock’s nipple through his think t-shirt. Sherlock whimpered and wriggled again, putting up an half-hearted fight. “I’ve caught you, now what shall I do with you?”

“A-a-anything.” Sherlock whimpered as John continued to lick and nip at his skin. “P-p-please?”

“Since you asked nicely…” John pulled Sherlock up and eased up his grip until the dazed detective could stand on his own. “Bedroom, now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [SHJW* Writers circle](http://shjwwriterscircle.tumblr.com/) and [DemonicSymphony](http://demonicsymphony.tumblr.com/) for getting me involved in the pitch hit. poking me until I finished it, and being the best betas a girls could have.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](type40consultiongdetective.tumblr.com).


End file.
